


Words Don't Fail Me Now

by AngelOfBooze



Series: Autistic!Simon Monroe [3]
Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Autistic Simon Monroe, Autistic!Simon Monroe, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:29:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfBooze/pseuds/AngelOfBooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon has never gone mute in front of his parents before, there's a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Don't Fail Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night because that was the first time I went mute in front of my parents. It was so odd. Luckily my mum and I know a bit of sign language. I don't know if everyone will relate to the way Simon feels when he's mute but that is how I feel when I'm mute so it's as accurate as I can get it I guess?

Simons’ forehead creased with a frown that didn’t reach his lips. He opened his mouth and tried again. The words were stuck in his throat, held there by some invisible force. His mouth formed the words, his vocal cords would not cooperate. Sure, this had happened before. Usually in short spells that lasted only the duration of a few minutes. Sometimes his words got caught in his throat when an angry teacher leered over his desk, snapping a question at him. Those were the times he would get sent out of the room for noncompliance. Other times his words failed him when a bully leered over him at lunch time. Those times he would get bashed over the head for noncompliance.

Never had Simons’ words failed him when he was just about to go ask his parents something. He wasn’t even asking something like “Can I get a lip piercing?” Simon was only going to shout out to his parents that he was off to the corner store to buy the new racing magazine that the store had just got in. Simon was just trumping out of his room towards the stairs when it happened. About to shout down to his Mother to let him know he was coming down. The whine of air came out of his now closed mouth when he tried to force out a sound. Any sound. Simon didn’t really feel panic, this was already a regular occurrence in his school life, who said it wouldn’t have followed him home?

Simon felt a vague pinch of annoyance only that these mute spells should follow him home. He knew what he wanted to say. He could hear his own voice ringing in his ears, taunting him. If only he could pin his voice down in his head and force it out of his throat. Simon realized suddenly that he was standing stiff as a board on the landing. A flush of embarrassment crawled its way up his cheeks. Simon turned abruptly away from the stairs and hurried back into his room, closing the door.

His blinds were drawn across the window, a frail shimmer of sun light just clawing it way around them. Simon sat for a while on top of his striped duvet in the almost darkness. He knew he wasn’t able to speak without even trying. Whenever this happened at school, it felt as if his throat had closed up just a little bit, it was no different now. He tried anyway. Not a peep. He had decided the stress of trying to communicate with his parents without speech outweighed the prospect of the new magazine. He could always go tomorrow.

Simon lay back on his bed, his eyes trailing over the posters on the wall. Handsome band members and race car drivers. He could name every one of them. Their birth date, their middle names, hell he could even name their death date if they had acquired one. Simon ran his hand down his face, the usually temporary muteness looked here to stay. He didn’t want to think about what dinner would be like. He could always say he’d lost his voice, but then his mother would fret he was developing the flue and his father would just look between them, a stoic expression on his face. Simons’ mouth turned down at the edges when his eyes flicked to the clock. It was almost five. Almost time for dinner. At this point Simon would have preferred to be descending into hell instead of the dining room.

His mother called down for him. Simon had to come up with a plan of action in the time it took to get to his seat in the dining room and sit down. Not even thirty seconds if he walked slowly, he calculated. Simon pushed himself off the bed, heart pounding, brain whirring and voice still refusing to cooperate. Simon walked steadily over one stair at a time, instead of his usual bounds that covered two or three. He moved slowly towards the dining room and sat gingerly down across from his father.

His father quirked an eyebrow at his silent demeanour. Usually he was babbling away about the newest sports car race or model. His parents knew that he was described as a silent child by his teachers, with average marks expect for mechanics and English. He excelled in both those subjects, they were told, because of his knowledge of the inner workings of a car and his passion for poetry. Simons’ Father had barely ever seen him this quite... Unless… “Son, you’re not having trouble with those boys again, are you?” He said gruffly. Simon was saved from answering when his mother set the plate containing his dinner in front of him on the hard wood table. Simon was never a fan of roast lamb, in fact the texture of the skin made him cringe in distaste. He didn’t have time to be picky and started sawing messily at the veal.

Simon had never been very good at using cutlery(He had never been good with the whole ‘movement thing, he hadn’t even learned how to ride a bike until last spring just before his thirteenth birthday) Simons’ aim was off and his strokes messy, but he had still gotten at least two mouthful by the time his mother was done saying grace. He saw her flick him a glance before turning back to her husband, deciding it was better to let Simon eat a food that he almost never touched than to reprimand him for skipping over his prayers.

Simon was almost gagging by the time he had finished the plate. He still couldn’t speak. His father was halfway through his plate, his mother just beating him. They had silently come to the decision to ignore whatever was up with their son until he told them. Dinner was strangely quiet without Simon reciting poetry or certain unique facts about specific unique cars.

Simon shifted unsteadily in his seat. He had a thousand thoughts going through his head faster than he could process. His mind kept coming back to one thing. _May I leave the table, Dad?_ He had no idea how to get those words out. He felt as if he was going to be stuck at the table for the rest of his life. His finger danced impatiently over his knee and thigh. He couldn’t figure out any action plan that would get him out of this room expect for fainting; which, to Simon, sounded a little too melodramatic and would probably land him the hospital with the crying babies and whirring machines rather the secluded silence of his bedroom.

Then, as suddenly as it had gone, his voice came back. Simon felt the squeeze on his throat and vocal cords diminish, he felt himself sag in his chair. Simon looked from his father to his mother. “May I please leave the table?” He asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use and cracking on the last syllable. He hoped his parents would put that down to his age. His father nodded.

“Just put your plates in the sink” He ordered. Simon nodded and did what he was told before bounding up the stairs and practically dancing into his room. Simons’ mouth turned up slightly in a smile before he fell backwards onto his bed and picked up a magazine. His voice had come back, and, though it would probably abandon him again, it wouldn’t stay gone for long.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! Please tell me if there is anything that doesn't make sense so that I can fix it!


End file.
